


Because there is no glory in illness.

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:53:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title is from TFIOS, by John Green. I just like it. This isn't about cancer, I promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because there is no glory in illness.

It had been nearly four entire years since Jehan had gotten sick enough that he couldn't get out of bed. Often, when he was feeling ill, he would do his best to rest as much as possible while going on with his day, but this time was different. His muscles ached and his head felt as though it might burst, too full of pressure to be able to handle the stress of movement. From his bed, he pulled at his blankets, shivering despite the light sheen of sweat on his skin, and reached for his phone to send a quick text.

Of course, actually texting was difficult his fingers feeling stiff, the movement nearly too much. But alas, he managed it. His arms sank back to his chest, too weak to let them go much further, and he let his eyes shut. It was nearly an hour later when he woke once more, the soft buzz of his phone against his chest rousing him from his light slumber. Pressing the answer button, he shifted the phone to his ear. 

"Allô?"

"Jehan? Man, you sound like shit. You okay?"

"Non, mon ami.. I have fallen ill."

Jehan's brow furrowed, pulling the phone just a bit further from his ear, given that everything was entirely too loud on Bahorel's side of the conversation. He sighed softly, shivering a little.

"Are you hydrated slash have you eaten?"

"I ate last night?"

"Idiot... Okay. I'm coming over."

"Rel, you don't have to..."

But the line had already gone dead, so Jehan resigned. After all, whether he wanted help or not, he knew that in reality he probably needed it. Especially given that he hadn't moved from his bed in about 17 hours and could feel the dehydration in his body starting to kick in.

In less than 15 minutes, a small knock and then the opening of a door could be heard, but Jehan didn't bother even attempt moving. If it wasn't Bahorel, and was actually someone coming to murder him and steal all of his things, he would welcome it to escape this suffering. However, it was so clearly not a murderer/thief, because the sound of rummaging in what he assumed was the kitchen was no where near as destructive as one might think a robbery would be.

In just a few minutes, Bahorel was coming into his room with a steaming bowl in his hands. "God damn, kid, you don't have anything easy to make. But this is some broth, which should help.. you just boil and add water, right?"

"Mmmmhm."

Going over to the poet, Bahorel set the bowl down and helped the other sit up, frowning a bit. He did everything from adjusting pillows to letting the other lean against him as he picked the bowl up and brought the spoon to Jehan's lips. 

"Careful now, it's hot.." 

Bahorel sat with Jehan pressed against him until almost all of the broth was gone and the other was shaking his head softly before pressing his cheek to the larger man's warm chest. Jehan inhaled slowly, taking in the smell of both the broth and his dear friend's softly musky cologne. For a while, they stayed like that, close together, while the poet rested. Just the mere act of eating wore him out, to be honest, but he was ever grateful. Bahorel was warm and comfortable, and his arms made Jehan feel safe.

"Hey.. just a bit more of this soup.. Come on.."

Groaning softly, Jehan let the other feed him until there was none left before sinking back against him, shivering again. As Bahorel set the bowl down, he carefully pulled the other closer to him once more and sighed, gently stroking the other's hair and holding him close.

"Thank you.. I really 'priciate it.."

Bahorel smiled a little and pressed a soft kiss to the other's forehead. "Anything for you, mon cher.. Now, get some rest. I'll stay here until you wake up.."

Whoever claimed that Bahorel wasn't a big, soft hearted guy was wrong, and Jehan thanked the great cosmos he could bury his face against the other's chest and slowly fall asleep, comfortable despite his present illness.


End file.
